Bloodthirsty
by Obelish
Summary: An indifferent Tarkatan warrior goes through his difficult life in the service of Shao Kahn's army, forced to fend for himself in a world where he is nothing but a pawn.
1. Prologue: Ritual of Blood

Author's Notes: Hey, I figured it would be best to let everyone know that this is my first story. Since much of the Tarkata's background isn't really explored in the MK series, I figured it would a good idea to build up off of what info we have now and sort of show my own interpretation of the species. I mean, I don't own anything MK related, like the Tarkata, but unless you've seen something that clearly proves otherwise, most things here (especially things described in detail) are likely completely original.

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><p><strong>Prologue: Ritual of Blood<strong>

The bodies of both potential warriors were horrendously scarred and heavily bleeding. Fresh cuts lay strewn across many corners of their arms and legs, with blood dripping down the tips of their blades. The conflict between them left their garments ripped and stained. Despite the pain, however, they stood determined, battle-ready, as they faced each other, with nothing but hatred flowing into their eyes.

It was their Ritual of Blood, a rite of passage among the Tarkata where, if they survived, a new pawn would be placed in Shao Kahn's army as a soldier. They were being watched; there were at least a dozen, or hundreds, neither of them were concerned enough to count. It also didn't strike them as odd that, despite the heated conflict that had just surfaced the barren grounds, there was no chanting, or jeering; rather unexpected from such a bloodthirsty species like the Tarkata. Perhaps it was a sign of respect, after still standing battle-ready after combat that would break many men, especially if that conflict was against your own flesh and blood. Another theory, however, is that the crowd knew that one of them was definitely about to fall soon.

The two Tarkatan brothers stood with their bloodied blades sprung out, waiting for each other's next attack. The duel's overseer watched them soundly from his chair, observing them without any irrelevant glance.

"_End it!" _The overseer cried in the Tarkatan language.

Immediately, his command was met by the two fighters charging at each other full force, their blades aiming for a vital organ on their respective bodies. The Younger of the two reached for the Elder's neck, but the latter successfully parried the attack by raising his own blade and additionally pushing himself backwards. The Younger, in that one attack, had used the last of his strength; he stood there, trembling, out of breath. The crowd had begun to start murmuring yet again at this point. Noticing the drop in his defense, the Elder scraped his blades together and fired a spark straight at his brother's chest. Too weak to evade the attack, he fell to the ground with a hard thump. The Elder somewhat hastily made his way towards him.

Crouching by his incapacitated brother, he looked into his swollen eyes, while the Younger looked back. He clearly saw the pain that his eyes held, followed by the anguish and frustration. The Elder contemplated that he was on the verge of killing his shared blood for place among the ranks of an army. Unsatisfied with that justification, he attempted to convince himself that he was fighting for dear life, remembering that he would be the one in his brother's position had he been the weaker one. But no matter how much he attempted to convince himself otherwise, he couldn't help but face the truth straight in the eye: He had no choice but to kill his younger sibling to see another day.

The Overseer looked on, frowning. "_What is your concern?" _He yelled in frustration. _"Why haven't you finished him?"_

The Elder did nothing, as though he didn't hear the angered cry. _"Kill him, you've proven his incompetence!" _The Overseer had grown even more impatient. _"The pathetic fool is no longer your family!" _

Suddenly, that set off a spark in the Elder's mind. It was as though everything that he'd ever known had just shattered like glass. Enraged, he rose, turned towards the Overseer, and jumped towards him, roaring like a feral animal. The Overseer, who had had enough disobedience at this point, drew his own blades and sent out a powerful spark of fire towards the Elder, knocking him back to the ground with full force. The Elder was drained of the remaining energy he had, while the Overseer casually arose from his chair.

He walked towards the Elder and aggressively picked him up. _"Your insubordination will be diminished." _He said angrily.

The Overseer retracted his blades and repeatedly punched the Elder in the face. His strength was so great he actually came close to breaking his teeth. Punch after punch, the Elder felt weaker every second, helpless as the Overseer took his anger out on him. The Overseer pushed him to the ground and continued to beat him, until he drew his blades and left a long scratch on his chest.

He fiercely picked him up yet again. "Now, kill him!" He yelled into the Elder's face.

Realizing there was no benefit in resisting; the Elder crouched beside his sibling once more, and gazed into his eyes for a moment. After the long, violent battle, and the ruthless beating that just took place, the Elder realized that no family ties could be left whole if he was to complete his rite of passage. It was ultimately the tradition of his people to pledge their lives to a warlord, or die trying, and he was now in the position where he would be forced to choose what to fight for: Another man's ideals, or his own?

Expectedly, he chose his own life…

The Elder placed his blade at his brother's neck, and without any hesitation, decapitated him while he lay on the ground. To complete the ritual, he gathered a large amount of blood from his body with his hands, and wiped it thoroughly around his face. It was the Tarkata's way of establishing their dominance over their weaker opponent, who was obviously not strong enough to be called a warrior.

The moment he wiped the blood on him was met him cheers from the crowd. As he arose, the Overseer cried out to the whole arena, "_I declare, Kentmka Syrkuyua_, _a true Tarkata!" _With his scream, he drew his blades and fired a spark into the air, signalling the Elder's accomplishment.

As the crowd cheered on, the Elder glared at his brother's corpse. "Kentmka Syrkuyua," He thought to himself, "an old name with a new purpose."

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><p>Author's Notes: I'm aware I may have some grammatical mistakes, but nonetheless, hopefully you enjoyed the prologue. I'd appreciate your critique.<p> 


	2. Home Life

After who knows how long_, _I can finally present to you the second chapter in the story.

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><p><em>Sixteen years later…<em>

Syrk applied his boots, which was the second-to-last he needed to complete his uniform. He looked through the footlocker in front of his bunk, and searched through it hastily for his Captain's Badge, which was required to be worn by all captains at all times during active hours.

His full name was Kentmka Syrkuyua, yet ever since he joined the Tarkata military, he had been reduced to "Syrk". He still hadn't figured out if it was because his name was too long or his fellow soldiers simply couldn't be bothered to say his full name.

"Natural Tarkatan attitude probably suggests the latter." He thought to himself.

Throughout the years Syrk had served as a soldier, he had proven time and time again that he was a more than capable enforcer of Shao Kahn's will. He was everything Kahn preferred in his minions, and everything that the Tarkata was feared for: competent, unmerciful, intimidating, greatly loyal, Syrk was all of these things. His bloodthirsty demeanour made him a revered member of the Tarkata, and his skills earned him the position of a Captain in seven years, instead of the necessary ten that most soldiers went through to be eligible. Syrk was a soldier that surpassed the expectations of many.

After a few minutes rummaging through his footlocker, Syrk had found his badge. He hastily applied it to his torso, completing his uniform. Immediately after, he glanced at his pendulum clock, and realized he didn't have much time left, as he had arranged for his task force to meet him outside the barracks in 15 minutes. Syrk arose, opened the door, and quickly left his quarters.

Once he exited the room, his ears were greeted immediately with the incredibly overwhelming sounds of barracks life; the piercing hissing of weapons being sharpened, the growls of the men as they arm wrestled, or when they lost in their gambling games, and of course, just the usual verbal exchange from them. Or rather, whatever you wanted to call intimidating banter that was less than civilized but oddly more than welcome, Syrk thought. It wasn't so much the principle of the matter as it was how it was enacted. Like most Tarkatans (and Outworlders, by extension), Syrk believed in discipline, that if one was to prove how strong he was, he by all means should go and do it. A simple fight to the death challenge was little more than a menial task; a stepping stone to victory, and what Syrk meant was a respectable challenge, not a simple grudge match brought on by an unlucky loss while gambling, a sight he'd seen more times he could count. He was no fool; he believed that if a warrior claims to be truly strong, he must think with more than just his blades.

As he made his way outside of the barracks, he caught sight of another soldier. They were about the same in height, and he wore the usual garment of a beige tunic and black pants; this would be a common enough face to any one outside the army, but the soldiers usually didn't have any trouble telling each other apart. Syrk found him swearing at another Tarkatan for apparently attempting to pickpocket him, and after watching them go at it for a few moments he acknowledged the one he recognized.

"Vole, quit toying around and follow me." Almost immediately the Tarkatan aggressively diverted his attention to Syrk, then after realizing who he was gave a frustrated grunt.

In any other circumstance, he might've just let them fight, but Vole was a member of his task force and if their meetup was soon he likely wouldn't have gotten there in time if he spent his time fighting. It wouldn't have been the first time something like that had happened, as stated before.

As Syrk started to make his way out of the barracks again, Vole followed. Vole wasn't exactly the most rational of Syrk's task force; of course that isn't saying much when you compared him to the rest of the species. Getting pickpocketed isn't exactly something anyone would take with much subtlety, but besides that, Vole was sharp-tongued, violent-natured, and short-tempered; he wasn't exactly one to respond to any type of negative comment with a light-hearted tone.

"You should've let me cut his flesh." Vole stated in an irritated tone.

"True, I figure there are plenty of others who could take his place." Syrk stated carelessly. "But then that's one less man on the job."

"And like you said, more than enough others who could do it."

"I mean you." Syrk turned to him for a moment but continued walking. "If you'd wasted your time in a needless match, you wouldn't have made our meeting in time. Or did you forget?"

"I was just on my-"

"And if you continue to act idiotic, I figure there's no reason to remind you that there are others who could take your place, since you seem to agree."

Vole grunted again, and then remained silent. Vole wasn't the type to take that sort of beatdown from another, unless they were in Syrk's position. It frustrated him to no end, but it was either show respect to those who probably didn't deserve it, or die. That wasn't exactly a problem for most Tarkatans; as long as they got opportunities for bloodshed, they couldn't have cared less, and Vole wasn't necessarily any different, but it wasn't a common practice to enjoy not having much voice in many situations.

For the rest of their walk, it was completely silent, mostly due to Syrk's uncaring nature and Vole's frustration.

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><p>I'm sorry for this one's rather short length, it's just that it had been delayed for too long and I also felt there wasn't much else I could do with this chapter. I'm hoping the nest will make up for it.<p> 


	3. Sunzi's Hounds

Syrk and Vole continued to make their way to the planned meeting spot. It had barely been a few minutes since they left the barracks, considering Syrk was moving rather hastily and it was irritating for Vole to have to keep up with him. Syrk considered it his way of saying _Pick up the pace or get trampled, _stemming from the rather crowded area they found themselves in.

The barracks these two resided in were actually only one part of many; Shao Kahn's conquest of the realm left a Tarkatan outpost in nearly every city of Outworld. The two of them were operating in Sunzi, a large city that has been in Shao Kahn's control since his early days of conquest. There are few, if any, inhabitants that remember a time period where the city wasn't under a total dictatorship; most people aren't aloud to leave the city unless given special permission. The city is largely policed by the Tarkata, expectedly, which is mostly the reason there was an outpost in the city itself in addition to outside.

Vole briefly staggered for a moment, and as he was catching up with Syrk again he yelled to him. "Why is it that we don't take the Huoche?" To his surprise, Syrk actually stopped.

"To make sure your laziness isn't indulged."

"Your methods aside," Vole grunted. "Admittedly, it would be a better option than remaining on foot."

As somebody who's never been one too ignore the obvious, it didn't take long for Syrk to momentarily forget his animosity and see that Vole was correct. The Huoche was an underground metro system that ran throughout most of the region. It dated far back through Outworld's history.

The two Tarkatans made their way towards the nearest stair descent into the metro. There weren't much people in the area at this time, but anybody that was there immediately made an effort to move out of their way. This was naturally a habit that occurred when any Tarkatan entered a public place; it was either that or they went through you, literally. Anybody that didn't move was probably Tarkatan themselves. Syrk and Vole had been through this area many times before, so they knew which railroad car would take the route to their destination. It didn't take them long to find it and make their way to the meeting spot.

_Barely two minutes to spare, _Syrk noticed on a large clock tower as he and Vole made their way out of the metro. Fortunately, they were in visual distance from their destination. From here, Syrk could make out five other Tarkatans. He could also make out that they were getting impatient, not because of the looks on their faces, but because they seemed to have resorted to arguing with each other. What was probably already obvious is that when the Tarkata are frustrated they tend to take their anger out on others. However, what Syrk noticed was that when he actually got to them they probably wouldn't hold him responsible for anything due to them already being angry at each other. Of course, that was probably just due to him being captain, but it was anyone's guess.

"I see you brought a mate." One of them sarcastically remarked. Vole made a light growl, while Syrk remained indifferent.

"I see you're still as untactful as usual, Bralix." Syrk responded while lightly pushing Vole back.

The entirety of the squad was made up of seven members. In addition to Syrk and Vole, there was the aforementioned Enforcer Bralix. He was a somewhat pompous enforcer that spent most of his off-duty time amusing himself by making life difficult for the more defiant inhabitants of Sunzi. Syrk couldn't count how many times he'd run into him during his roaming around the city, not as though he'd like to remember.

Syrk noticed one of the other members drinking from what appeared to be a small glass bottle he put away almost as soon as he brought it out. He recognized him as Corro, a soldier who was more adept in stealth than most of his peers. An interesting fact about him was that he was often seen drinking a homebrewed beverage everyday. What it was made out of or what it did was something he never disclosed, of course, no one was really observant enough to wonder, and he preferred to keep it that way.

"I see the captain was forced to latch himself onto you again, Vole?" Another remarked, adding to Vole's already rising temper.

"Of course," He responded. "I'm hoping he wanted to give me the pleasure of cutting a bug like you."

Quist, the former, had been at odds with Vole apparently ever since they enlisted in the army. They had never been even on the slightest of good terms, and always make an effort to provoke the other. Quist, in addition to being cunning and intimidating, was primarily known as a weapons specialist and blacksmith, responsible for a large amount of weapons being used by Sunzi's portion of Shao Kahn's army.

The next two of the group remained silent for them most part; they were known as Vyker and Cylor. Vyker was a recently inducted member of the task force, admittedly only added by Syrk because there had been barely any other recruits that proved competent enough to meet his expectations. Cylor was the previous rookie before Vyker, and when he was inducted Syrk didn't intend to add anyone else to the squad until it had been brought to the intention of his superiors. After he had made sure that everybody was there, Syrk began to give his men a rundown of what they were required to accomplish.

"This will be nothing any of you haven't seen already, but I still hope you can keep up." Syrk stated casually, "About a week ago, a small number of Enforcers were caught smuggling a chemical, or something of the sort, into the outskirts of Sunzi."

"Do we know what this chemical was capable of?" Corro asked, finally speaking.

Since Corro was probably the most kept in line of the group, save the rookies, Syrk didn't comment on the interruption and indulged him.

"We know enough to figure that the ones responsible for it being illegally brought out of the city should be punished."

"Our goal is to kill these soldiers?" Bralix asked, slightly raising an eye.

"To put it simply, they've been marked as rogue, so yes."

Everyone seemed to understand the idea rather well, _Of course if it's along the lines of rush in and slaughter, I figure that simple enough, _Syrk thought humorously.

"Any other questions?"

Vole spoke up, "Just one. We've only just discovered these rogues' whereabouts?"

"Yes, they've picked their hiding spot rather carefully." Syrk responded. "Of course, a more likely scenario is that they've been moving from one safe place to another." Vole nodded.

"Well, it would probably help to know that they're also soon intending to leave the city apparently very soon, so we won't get much done standing here."

Syrk turned around and signalled for his men to follow, which they did in a rather unorganized fashion. Hastily they made their way towards the Tarkatan rogues' hideout.

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><p>Been a while. Again. Well, I've got no justifiable excuse for you this time, so I won't bother to try and sway you with one. I'm trying to put a lot more effort into this whole thing, so hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner than this one was. Keyword: Hopefully. Always appreciate the reviews by the way.<p> 


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